


Crimson Flower

by MuddyInk



Series: Checkmate [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Bad Parenting, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Drug Addiction, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Parent/Child Incest, Past, Pedophilia, Self-Hatred, Sick Character, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuddyInk/pseuds/MuddyInk
Summary: A look into the childhoods of Craig and Tweek, showing parts of what molded them into how they are now.•(Non explicit non-con)





	1. Tweek

**Author's Note:**

> The non-con part is very short and very non descriptive more just saying that it happened than anything as I am not comfortable writing a child being assaulted.

When looking at my story and how I came to face God, I seemed to have left out the largest part of what made me turn out this way. Yes, I did briefly delve into my past but I never revealed how my daily life went. We should correct that now. The first nine years of my human life were Hell, to say the least. My parents didn’t love me, I didn’t have any friends. I wasn’t even permitted to go to school for a long time. Every day spent living in fear of what would happen to me. 

It was not always that way, believe it or not. Despite what I may have said before the pain didn’t start the day I was born. I mean what kind of monster would torture an infant. No, my parents wished me to remember what was happening to me. Remember that I was the thing that ruined their lives. It began just before I turned four years old. I had been being slapped over minor mistakes and been screamed at constantly until that point. I’d already become used to no affection, I mean when that’s what you’re born into you can’t miss something you never had. Right? 

My father was not one to accept me sleeping in even a second past the time I was meant to wake up. If I did not wake immediately upon 5 AM my father would be in my room pulling me by the hair out of bed. It took only a few instances of this before I started setting an alarm. I was then to go to the store room and taste the coffee he would bring me. If I was too slow or my review not good enough I would be hit. This may seem pretty light to you but a child of barely four, this was hell. Looking back on it now I think the weeks leading to my fourth birthday they were preparing for what was to come. The closer it got to the day the more my parents malicious aura increased. The slaps got harder until they were leaving visible bruising, and the screaming got even worse. 

The day of my birthday I remember waking with an intense feeling of dread in my stomach. My father had not come to wake me that day either, and I mistakenly brushed off the feeling and thought this meant they were preparing a party for me. I thought they would love me if only on this day. I had dressed myself quickly and made my way downstairs. I had walked into the kitchen hoping for some sort of birthday breakfast, but found the kitchen empty. In my little innocent child mind I didn’t realize just how dangerous my situation really was and had gone through the house looking for my parents with no luck. 

The only room I had not checked yet was the basement. I was nervous about going down there because there might be monsters but I really wanted to celebrate my birthday with my parents so I opened the door. Making my way down the stairs I noticed some white light coming from down there so I continued. “Daddy?” I had called down.  
“Yes son come down here,” he called back. 

Feeling nervous I made my way down all the way and took in the basement in full. Truthfully I had only been down there maybe once but seeing it now, it was clear my father had added some new items. A medical table stood off to the side surrounded by strange medical equipment. In the corner there was a dirty mattress lying without sheets on the floor, and freshly drilled into the wall off to the side of the mattress were some chains and cuffs. Two sets, one higher up on the wall and one lower to the floor by the mattress. 

“Daddy, what's this stuff?” I inquired, shuffling my way into the middle of the room. There wasn’t anything else really in the room, just some towels and a water faucet over a small sink. There was also a large chest by the stairs with a thick lock on it. 

My father ignored my question and made his way over to me. “Your mother will be joining us shortly to celebrate your birthday,” reaching down and grabbing my arm too tightly he pulled me over to the wall, causing me to cry out in pain. “This is a really special day Tweek, you’re a big boy now.” 

He clamped the higher cuffs onto my wrists so my face was against the wall and my arms above my head. He then left me down there. It wasn’t so bad at first really but the more time passed the more blood drained and my arms began to hurt. By the time my mother came down with my father I was crying and begging him to take them off. 

“Now son, you shouldn’t beg like that,” my mother smiled maliciously, going over to the chest and removing something from it. “Big boys shouldn’t cry. We're going to have to teach you a lesson" my father chimed in. 

“No, no! I’ll be good I promise, I’ll be so good momma,” I cried. “It just hurts daddy I’m sorry.”  
Squirming in my restraints made more pain shoot through my arms and I felt hands touching my back. They didn’t respond but instead removed my shirt. I was not sure what to expect when they did that but at that point I had already realized whatever they were going to do would harm me. 

I screamed when the first hit came. I assume they had some sort of whip. It sure sounded like one. They had told me not to beg so I clamped my mouth tightly shut against the pain, enduring hit after hit. I was surely going to die if they didn’t stop. I felt like my skin was on fire, blood pouring down and pooling at my feet. I fainted sometime during that. They didn’t take me down except to stitch my back up. I came to while on the medical table, and had to feel every stitch going into my skin. 

It continued like that for days. I didn’t really know what time it was but I was just so happy when the pain finally ended. It never really ended though did it. I couldn’t sleep because of the pain in my back and by the time I would finally fall under, my parents would be back to chain me up and torture me again. At the end of it all they left me chained for a whole day. It was absolutely the worst feeling I had ever felt, my arms screaming for relief. I guess they finally went numb after so long being up like that, but when they came to let me out the feeling was intensified even more. When I screamed my father slapped me and sent me up to my room. 

The wounds actually got infected so it was back down to the basement while my father cleaned the cuts and let me tell you, he was not gentle at all. Every time he cleaned me up I felt like my back was being ripped open again and again. I thought it would be over after that. They had their fun and now everything would be okay. I convinced myself I had deserved what happened. I wasn’t being good enough, they had gotten tired of me being so bad. 

I tried even harder to please them once I was well enough to move around without too much pain. I cleaned better than I had before, woke up earlier to get a head start. I stayed as quiet as possible except when I was giving my very best reviews of how the coffee tasted, I even started doing dishes. I thought they would be pleased with me, and it seemed like they were. They stopped hitting me. 

Then I dropped a plate. As if everything were going in slow motion, I felt that overwhelming dread as my mother watched it happen, my tiny hands barely missing the plate and my large eyes watching it shatter on the ground. Everything froze in that instant. My head lifting to see my mother as her hand swung down on my hard, hitting my face with a loud crack and my head colliding with the sink. I went unconscious and when I woke up I was back in the room. There were new additions down there like hanging chains that pulled up so my feet couldn’t touch the floor. That was the contraption I was hooked into this time. 

That time I was chained for two days, not always in the air I think my arms might have come out if that were the case, but in the air enough that I had been made a screaming mess again. They hit me with something more firm that time, not breaking the skin always but leaving horrible painful blistering welts on me. All the while telling me how worthless I was. How bad I was. I just accepted this as true. I had broken the plate. 

I didn’t get infected that time, and when we came out instead of waiting to heal I had immediately gone to clean. I think they were a little confused by this. I don’t think they expected me to try to please them again so soon. 

I was very careful afterwards. I never wanted that to happen again and it didn’t for a long time. People like that can only be satisfied for so long though so when they got tired of waiting they started looking very closely at any and all mistakes I would make no matter how small they may be. By my seventh birthday my body was covered in scars. I had been in that dark basement so many times, chained up and beaten, tortured. I had been left down there for weeks on that dirty mattress using a bucket as my toilet and eating whatever disgusting meal they threw down the stairs for me and that was if I had been lucky enough to eat that night. 

Because I would be going through withdrawals from the meth coffee at the same time I would be violently sick in the times they left me down there for long periods. Every time it happened I would think I’d be dying and wish for death, but death never came. When he started doing those.. disgusting acts to me.. rape.. he told me that since nothing else was working that was the last punishment he could think of. It hurt, I felt dirty. I didn’t want to be there anymore. Why was this happening to me. Things I kept thinking while stuck there in that Hell. 

Starting school finally was okay. I was happy to be away from my parents. I didn’t make any friends and I did get bullied but for the most part school was a relief. Most people just ignored me. I still had to go home to that but I had the hours of school to relax and pretend my life was normal. Like I was just a normal child. 

You might be asking why I never told anyone anything and the answer is very simple. In South Park without very obvious proof, or without medical personnel or police directly stepping in everyone with avoid the situation. They will see the signs and act as if they know nothing. They will say it is not their problems. Someone else will handle it and if no one does well.. who cares? Talking about it in this town will result in nothing but the situation becoming worse. If a teacher asks you about it the auto response is to deny it. They do not want to help you they just want gossip. 

At the end of the day I would always have to go home and endure my pain for another day. I cannot tell you how many times I have thought of running away but then convincing myself they would just find me. No one can save me. I deserve everything that happens to me. I am not worth saving. My parents love me. This is their love.


	2. Craig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek said I need to do this too, so here it is I guess. Vanilla shit compared to his life.

Hey, um I-I don’t really know how this works.. I guess I’m supposed to tell you about my childhood. That’s what Tweek said anyway. I don’t really.. well his life was much worse than mine so.. nothing can really compare to that right?

It wasn’t so bad actually. We were a happy normal family, went on trips together, ate together. The whole deal, y'know? Dad got laid off his job though that’s when it started. The drinking was.. bad. He would drink so much, going out to bars and not coming back until real late completely sloshed. We really just tried to avoid him, you know how drunk men can be. The shit just kept going like that though. We really fucking tried to put up with it, but that all came to an awful, fiery end. He came home one day after having been out the whole night. It was very clear he was still completely fucked, mom tried to ask him where he had been. He had some lipstick of all things on his shirt, goddamn pig. Mom asked about it and the bastard hit her. She didn’t even do anything wrong, just wanted to know why her husband had some random woman's lipstick on him. She fell down and he was screaming at her about not being “so fucking nosy” so yeah. Any respect I had left for him disappeared that day.

He was really aggressive after that, hitting mom anytime she did anything he didn’t like. Didn’t matter what it was, even if it was something stupid like not bringing him a beer fast enough. It was always her being called a stupid bitch followed by a whack! She always cried out. She always sobbed in the bathroom afterwards, Tricia was young but she tried to understand. She tried to make her mommy feel better. Mom defended us, protected us from his hits. She protected us until she couldn’t anymore. Mom was getting sick, and dad wasn’t letting up with his abuse. Mom was going to die because her body couldn’t fight the sickness. She couldn’t protect us anymore. I started taking the hits so Tricia wouldn’t have to. I let myself become the full target of his abuse. Obviously it tore down my mental state, I know people would give me questioning stares every time I showed up with a fresh bruise. It didn’t matter.

Mom was getting better, I mean not cured but she was stronger than she had been. She didn’t smile anymore but she also wasn’t actively dying. One night dad caught me drawing. I loved to draw but he said it was a girly thing. I don’t think it would have gotten so bad if it had just been a normal picture but it had to be boys holding hands. He lost his mind then, grabbing the picture and my hair pulling my into the kitchen. He held my hand over the sink and grabbed a knife. I was screaming and begging him to stop, I would never draw something like that again. I didn’t know what got in to me. He was too drunk to care, or I don’t know maybe he would have done it anyway. My mom ran in when she heard me screaming, guess she figured no way I’d be screaming this much over a few hits. I’d already grown a tolerance to those anyway. She looked horrified at us before she charged dad, knocking him off me and sending me to the floor. I skittered away from them to the kitchen door and turned to watch. Mom was shouting at him screaming “what the fuck is wrong with you, he's your son!” but he was still too out of it. He took that knife and brought it down on moms face, leaving a long cut on her cheek. She screamed and got off him, sending blood drops all over, streaming between her fingers as she cupped her cheek protectively. She glared at me and in that moment I knew I lost everyone that cared about me.

Dad seemed to have snapped out of it when the blood started flowing and he was yelling for Tricia to go get the first aid kit. She came down the stairs and brought it obediently to our father where he got her help cleaning and patching moms cheek. He was still drunk after all. I tried to approach to comfort my mother, maybe hug her but she just screamed “don’t you fucking touch me you brat" and swung at me with her free hand. I jumped back shocked to the core and ran up to my room. They just.. ignored me after that. Like I didn’t matter. Like this was my fault. It wasn’t my fault. I loved my family still even if they stopped loving me so I kept letting myself be hit. I kept letting myself listen to my sister tell me she wished I were dead because then dad wouldn’t be like this. He was only like this because of me. I mean was it really my fault? Did I ruin my family just by being born? They had to have been happy before me right? Logically I knew it was not my fault. This kind of thing is more common than it should be. Sometimes men just.. lose themselves. They need to feel powerful and in control and when their control is taken from them they turn to more awful and sinister means to get back that feeling.

I wanted so badly to tell someone, but like Tweek said. Here in South Park telling someone doesn’t get you anywhere but dead, so you don’t fucking snitch. Teachers just use it for gossip, same as most other adults. Kyle’s mom would turn it into some fucking town wide thing, and nobody needs Kyle’s mom involved in their shit. Bitch is fucking nuts. I know we are not really supposed to be talking about anything after we met but I just have to say this because I didn’t mention it before. When the whole thing with the Asian girls happened and my dad got worse with me, I was the most miserable I have ever been. I couldn’t enjoy anything. Not my friends, not school, not home. I just wanted to give up. If I couldn’t have Tweek what else was there. I hoped he would move on, but he didn’t. He waited until he couldn’t wait anymore but.. when Tweek and I were friends. When I found out his life was similar to mine. It was the greatest year I had. Every moment with Tweek was the best I had, all the way until my death. Even the bad moments were amazing.

I love you Tweek, I love you so much. You’re sleeping right now all cute on this cloud, your little ears twitching with your dreams. I am so happy you get to experience Heaven too. You look so peaceful. I’ll leave this here for you to find when you wake up, no doubt your cute ass will love this.

Scrawled at the bottom of the page are short scribbled words, ink smeared slightly from little wet spots littering the page  
“I love you too, Craig"


End file.
